Never Ever
by Neuriel
Summary: Three short alternate Season 4 scenarios. Alternate Universe. Tony/Ziva with Jenny.


Title: Never Ever  
Spoilers: Season 4  
Summary: AU. Three short alternate Season 4 scenarios.  
Pairing: Tony/Ziva  
Disclaimers: Neither _NCIS_ nor any of its characters belongs to me.  
Notes: Written mostly in 2009. Not betaed.

* * *

I.

She knew it wasn't a social call when she saw Jenny Shepard standing in front of her apartment door. From Jenny's rigid stance, the smile that avoided her eyes, Ziva understood immediately that this was a visit from Director Shepard. Ziva let her in.

"This is nice," Jenny observed, looking around the apartment. It was tastefully arranged and decorated, influences from Ziva's various global escapades expressed here and there. Under a different direction, perhaps, it would have come off as overdone, tacky; too many different things at once. But Ziva had chosen decorations and furnishings that complemented each other; the apartment was subtle, not a word most would associate with the Mossad officer. Jenny, however, knew better.

"I just finished making some coffee. Would you like some?" Ziva offered.

"Yes, please."

Jenny followed Ziva into the kitchen, sitting down at the table as Ziva poured their drinks. Ziva brought the mugs over and sat in the chair across from Jenny. The two drank in silence for several minutes, enjoying their coffee. Jenny was pleased, though not surprised, that Ziva still remembered how she liked hers. Briefly, Jenny contemplated the wisdom of her decision. She had no doubts whatsoever that Ziva could do this mission. They had worked together successfully for several years, and there were few people Jenny trusted more. However...

"Is there something you need from me, Director?" Ziva finally asked.

"La Grenouille," Jenny said, her mind made up.

Ziva's face was neutral, but Jenny thought she saw some faint recognition in her eyes. "An arms dealer, yes?" Ziva said carefully, having filtered through her voluminous mental catalog of names.

"Yes. His real name is René Benoit. He is a native of France, but he is well-known in the international community." From memory, Jenny summarized La Grenouille's file to Ziva: his importance, the danger he posed, how the United States government had been trying to track him down for years.

Ziva listened quietly, waiting. And then.

"He has a son," Jenny said, "Jean Benoit. Recently graduated from medical school, returned to the United States five weeks ago after two years in eastern Europe with the Peace Corps. I need you to get close to him."

An undercover mission, one of Ziva's specialties. Still, that did not explain Ziva's sense of unease. Why would Director Shepard come to her privately in her own home...?

Ziva began, "Tony-"

"Doesn't know that I'm speaking to you. No one else knows about this, Ziva. No one else can. Not DiNozzo, not McGee, not Lee."

And suddenly, Ziva understood with perfect clarity. "This is personal," she said. Not a question.

Jenny did not answer, not that she needed to. Her voice was expressionless when she instead asked, "Can you do this, Officer David?"

Later, Ziva would recall that moment with a profoundly bitter regret. But no matter how many times she replayed it, re-enacted it, the answer was always - would always have been - the same.

"Yes."

* * *

II.

Rota. His own team. Rota. Oh, god, was he ready for this? Rota.

"Congratulations, Agent DiNozzo," Jenny said, smiling, the use of his title her way of reassuring him that, yes, this was a genuine offer. As if the official papers in front of him weren't proof enough.

"I don't know what to say," Tony said, torn between excitement and that voice in his head that was whispering, 'But Rota...'

Jenny's smile faded. "Is something wrong, Tony? I thought by now you'd be outside yelling to the entire agency about your promotion."

"This is an honor, Jenny. Really, I'm thrilled."

"But..." Jenny prompted.

"But Rota," he said. "Wow. That's half-way across the world."

"It's the only opening that NCIS has for a new MCRT right now. And you're fluent in Spanish, so language won't be an issue." Her gaze was suddenly speculative. "Your reluctance wouldn't have anything to do with the reason that you turned down the La Grenouille mission, would it?"

_She knows_, Tony thought. But that was impossible. _No_ one knew. Of course, Gibbs and his sixth sense probably suspected, but even he wasn't _completely_ certain. "It might," Tony said.

"Ah." Jenny was silent for a moment. "Do you want to talk to her first?"

"'Her'?" The denial was automatic. "I don't know what you mean."

Jenny stared at him, her eyes and the line of her mouth saying, without words, 'Tony, I'm not an idiot.' It was actually very Gibbs-like - the old Gibbs, anyway, pre-Mexico. It was hard to get anything past Jenny; Tony almost wondered why he had even tried. _But you know the reason._

"There is someone," Tony reluctantly said.

"Are the two of you serious, Tony?"

Were they? In all honesty, Tony wasn't sure. He was crazy about her, but it wasn't something they had ever really talked about. It had just... sort of happened. Four months and counting. It was longer than any other relationship he'd been in since... well, ever, maybe. That alone said something. "We, ah, we might be getting there," he admitted.

"While I'm happy for your personal life, Tony, I don't need to tell you that this is an opportunity that comes around very rarely," Jenny said. "Most agents would kill for a promotion like this."

"I know. I don't see how I can say no." His own team. If he turned this down _now_, it might be years before another offer surfaced. Maybe never again.

"But you're considering it," Jenny observed. "For a relationship that may or may not be serious."

Tony kept his face neutral, though the observation stung. They hadn't even said 'I love you' yet. That had never bothered him before - not until this very moment, at least. He had always assumed they would have time to get to that point. And now...

"You should talk to Ziva," Jenny said simply.

Tony almost choked - on air, saliva, nothing. "How did you... What does Ziva have to do with... You're just talking crazy now, Jenny-"

Rolling her eyes, the director said, "I expect a decision from you within seventy-two hours, Tony."

"That's fast." Really fast.

Jenny only smiled humorlessly. "It's not negotiable, Tony. I need a 'yes' or 'no' by the end of the week."

"I understand." He paused, setting the folder back down on Jenny's desk. "For the time being, could we keep this to ourselves?"

"If you'd like."

"I would. Thank you."

Jenny nodded. Sensing that he was dismissed, Tony forced a smile and left.

Outside of Jenny's office, he found Ziva leaning against the railing. She looked up, her eyes softening almost imperceptibly as she saw him, before she returned her gaze to the bullpen, where McGee was trying to unglue his fingers from his keyboard.

"You should not have done that just because Gibbs is back," Ziva admonished Tony as he joined her.

"Probie needs to learn that he'll always be a probie," Tony said, admiring his handiwork. He rested his arms on the railing so that their shoulders did not quite touch. He took a breath. "We need to talk."

Ziva's face turned toward his, assessing him with whatever Mossad tricks she had in her mental arsenal. Her face gave nothing away, and he wondered what she was thinking. He had gotten much better at reading her, but sometimes, he thought that she would always be able to keep her thoughts and emotions hidden; part of her would always remain a mystery to him.

Finally, she offered, "My place tonight?"

"I'll bring dinner."

She nodded. "All right."

Nothing more was said. Tony was apprehensive, and he guessed that Ziva was concerned, but they were good at leaving their personal lives out of the office. After all, they'd had four months of practice.

Tony's cell phone rang, and Ziva took her cue to head down the stairs. Minutes later, they were geared up, and all his concerns about Rota, his undefined-relationship with Ziva, and their future retreated to the back of his mind.

* * *

III.

Ziva swirled her drink. "He is not coming back, Tony."

He nodded shortly in agreement, taking a long gulp of his own drink.

They had both thought Gibbs would change his mind. How could he stay away? His job was his life, his sense of justice so strong that he was physically unable to give up until he had righted whatever wrongs existed. And yet, they had been wrong. Away Gibbs had gone to Mexico, to live out the rest of his retirement. This time permanently.

_I could have been him_, Tony thought. _Maybe I still will._ So bitter, so angry at the world. Three times divorced; living in the past, plagued by lost loves, a lost wife, a lost daughter. Tony had none of those things, but beneath the irreverent mask he had worn for most of his life, Tony understood betrayal and anger and loss and abandonment very well. And besides, who could say what the future held? Perhaps one day he would find himself alone, with only the three Bs to keep himself company: bourbon, basement, and a boat.

And then Ziva put her hand on his, and all thoughts of turning into Gibbs vanished.

"It will be all right," Ziva said.

"I know," he answered, and he realized he believed his own words.

He _could_ lead the team. He had learned from the best, after all. And as long as he had all of them - Ziva, McGee, Abby, Ducky, and Jenny - everything would be okay. They would keep him on the right path. He might never really know what made Gibbs turn away from the only family he had left, but should he ever find himself in Gibbs's place, Tony hoped that he would make a very different decision.

_Good luck, Gibbs_, Tony thought. _Find your peace._

* * *

end


End file.
